


Sing the Words Wrong

by coraxes



Series: Trying Their Best [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Courtship, F/F, allusions to josephine/leliana, awful poetry, bisexual!cass, lesbian!inquisitor, minimal in-game dialogue, velaril lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coraxes/pseuds/coraxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra wants to be courted like a proper lady.  Velaril tries her best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing the Words Wrong

_Oh, Gods,_ Velaril thought as she walked away from the door to the battlements.  _Oh, Creators, what am I supposed to do?_

Dorian was waiting for her, leaning against the stone wall by the door, and she smiled at him to show his concern was mostly unfounded.  _Mostly._ After Cassandra had turned her down the day before, Dorian and Lace were the ones she’d gone to for comfort and drinks.

 

“So, how’d it go?” Dorian asked.  The words were casual, but Vel recognized the posturing for what it was. 

 

She grabbed his arm, forcing him to walk beside her; she wanted to get out of here before Cassandra emerged from the battlements.  Vel was pretty sure after the way she’d just teased Cassandra, the Seeker would need a moment to recuperate—but she didn’t want her nice exit to be ruined.  “She’s not straight,” Vel said quietly; she’d rather not broadcast _everything_ about her love life right now, even if it would get around anyway. 

 

“And?” Dorian asked.  “Any reason you’re dragging me about like a dog on a leash?”

 

Vel pulled him through the door that led to the entry hall stairs and shut it behind them.  There was no one there at the moment.  It was the closest to privacy they would get without her dragging Dorian all the way to her quarters, and that would lead to more rumors she didn’t want to deal with.  “She wants me to court her.  Properly.  Like a lady.”  Seeing the beginning of a laugh appear on Dorian’s face, she interjected, “And you can’t tell anyone—it would embarrass her.”

 

Dorian snickered.  “Really?  Are you sure that was Lady Cassandra and not some sort of…demonic imitation?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure, and I need your help,” Velaril snapped.  “I’ve got _no idea_ what you shem do for courtship.  You’re the noble, here.  Where do I even start?” 

 

“What makes you think I know anything about courting women?” Dorian drawled. 

 

Vel rolled her eyes.  “Oh, don’t give me that.  You’re saying you’ve never seen a friend court a woman before?”

 

“I’m given to understand that courtship in Tevinter is rather different from courtship elsewhere,” Dorian said.  “It’s a business transaction.  If you want to marry a woman, or your parents want you to marry her, you talk to her parents first.  And then you send a lot of gold and probably a copy of your family tree.  If they’re interested, you talk to one another at balls and try to pretend you give a damn.”

 

Vel pinched the bridge of her nose.  “You’re right.  That’s not helpful at all.”

 

“I’m always right,” Dorian agreed amiably.  “Now, why don’t you go ask Lace or something and tell me how it goes?  I was right in the middle of reading one of Varric’s latest.  It’s awful, if you were wondering.”

 

Vel sighed.  “Go on, then, you useless shem.”

 

Dorian ruffled her hair fondly (“Ass!”) and left her alone in the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

It took a solid half-hour of searching for Lace before Vel remembered—she’d gone to scout the Western Approach that morning.

 

_If I leave now and take the hart I could catch her,_ Vel thought for one wild moment, truly losing all sense, and then discarded the thought.  She was the last elvhen, and she would _not_ be so damned panicked by the prospect of courting the woman she’d been in love with for months.

 

Who could she ask about this, if not Lace?  Someone discreet, and learned, and understanding—Josephine, she thought.  Vel could trust Josephine with this, probably.  The ambassador was nothing if not cultured, and she could be trusted to keep the situation quiet.  Plus, she’d probably figure it out at some point anyway.

 

So Vel made her way to the ambassador’s office, praying that she wouldn’t run into Cassandra on the way there.

 

Josephine was speaking to Leliana when Vel entered, their heads bent closely over a sheet of parchment and Leliana’s arm around Josephine’s shoulders.  At the sound of the door, they looked up; Josephine seemed startled, a blush spreading across her cheeks, while Leliana remained stoic.  “Josephine, may I have a word?” Vel asked, wondering what the ambassador could be blushing about.  “It’s personal.”

 

Leliana chuckled.  Vel stared.  She didn’t think she’d ever heard Leliana’s laugh before.  “Well, in that case,” she said, sliding off the arm of Josephine’s chair.  “Good luck, Inquisitor.”  She slipped out of the office, shutting the door soundlessly behind her.

 

Vel sat in one of the chairs in front of Josephine’s desk. 

 

“So, Inquisitor,” Josephine asked, “what exactly is this personal matter?”

 

Forcing herself not to fidget, Vel considered her words.  She didn’t like talking about her romantic life to anyone outside her immediate circle, and she didn’t want to embarrass Cassandra, either—but Josephine needed to know the whole story to be of any help.  “Cassandra wants to be courted.  Properly.  Like a lady.  And I haven’t the first idea where to start.”

 

Josephine’s eyes widened in surprise.  “I never would have expected that of her.  But I do suppose it makes sense.”  She steepled her fingers.  “Let’s start with what _you’re_ used to.  What does courtship involve among the Dalish?”

 

“Well, every time we pass by a human village, the unbonded mature elves will run in and kill a bunch of shemlen.  If you’re interested in another elf, you give them a shem head with the ears cut off,” Vel said solemnly, fighting to keep a straight face.

 

Were Josephine any less well-bred, Vel thought, that would have gotten an eyeroll.  As it was, Josephine only gave her a tolerant smile.  “Your wit continues to astound, Inquisitor.  And the truth?”

 

“Well, it’s not really anything formal,” Vel said.  “You save them a spot at the campfire, and when it’s your turn to cook, you serve them first.  If you find something pretty, you give it to them.”  She frowned, considering.  “There is one thing I guess you don’t do.  If someone is really serious about a person, they make a scarf out of the nicest fabric they can get their hands on and tie beads on the ends of the fringe.  Then they give it to the person they want to be bonded to.  If the person accepts the scarf, they wear it every day for a month, and at the end of the month the couple is bonded.  They use the scarf to tie their hands together for a night, and it can’t come undone or the bond is off.  Afterwards, they’re bonded for life.” 

 

Now she did fidget, tapping her fingers on the arms of the chair.  Being bonded to Cassandra.  Did she want that?  Bonds between two people of the same gender weren’t outlawed, but they were frowned upon, because they wouldn’t produce the children that the Dalish so desperately needed.  And Cassandra was a shem besides.  But perhaps she was getting ahead of herself.  “So, anyway,” she said, “that’s about it.”

 

Josephine nodded, considering.  “Well, the principles are the same.  Give her gifts, make her your priority.  You might pull out her chair for her when she sits down or put up her tent when you camp.  However, Cassandra might be looking for the more _romantic_ side of things.”

 

“She _does_ like romance novels,” said Vel thoughtfully. She tried to recall the romance elements of _Swords & Shields.  _There was one detail from a love scene that Vel had thought was silly but Cassandra had thought was particularly romantic: rose petals strewn from the threshold of the house to the bed.  She didn’t think Cassandra wanted to bed her quite yet, though.  “So…scattering flower petals everywhere?”

 

Josephine nodded eagerly.  “Yes.  Flowers of any sort are good.  And chocolates, cakes, some kind of delicacy.  Perhaps you could read her a love poem?  Or even better— _write_ one.”

 

“Um,” said Vel, who currently had several terrible abandoned poems about a beautiful warrior queen hidden under her mattress and would rather die than show them to their subject. 

 

But Josephine was hitting her stride, apparently.  There was a manic gleam in the ambassador’s eye.  “I know this wonderful jeweler in Antiva City, if you want to buy jewelry for her.  Though Cassandra doesn’t wear much jewelry.  And I know a tailor, but she never wears gowns, either.  Perhaps some new boots?  She can’t _always_ wear armor.”

 

“What about dancing?” Vel asked.  The only dancing she’d seen humans do had been in the Herald’s Rest, and it involved a lot more jumping about and laughter than romance, but perhaps she could convince Maryden to play something slower.

 

She was _not_ expecting Josephine to gasp, “Halamshiral!”

 

For a wild moment Vel could only recall the former capital of the Dales; then she remembered.  They had an invitation to a ball at the Winter Palace.   Though she knew they were going for political reasons, perhaps she could manage to convince Cassandra to dance with her.  It would certainly be proper enough.  “Oh,” Vel said.  For a moment she pictured it, herself and Cassandra in fancy Orlesian ballgowns, and the image was so strange she nearly laughed.  Still, it would be nice to dance with her.  “Yes, that could work.  Thank you, Josephine.  You really helped.”

 

Josephine nodded graciously.  “It was no trouble, Inquisitor.  And do let me know how it goes, will you?”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra wasn’t sure what sort of courtship she was expecting.  One night of romance, perhaps.  A few flowers left at her door.  A present or two.  And she wasn’t far wrong, at first.  She didn’t see Vel all day, but when she returned to her room, there was a fresh bouquet of red roses laying on her desk.  She put them in a vase filled with fresh water and left them on her dresser, where they contrasted spectacularly with the room’s otherwise Spartan décor. 

 

The next day, when she took a break from her sparring to go eat lunch, she found Vel in the dining room along with Varric, Dorian, and Sera.  As soon as Vel saw her, she jumped up from the table and pulled out a chair for Cassandra. 

 

It was such a small, simple thing, and yet no one had done it for Cassandra in years.  “Thank you, Inquisitor,” she said stiffly, a blush blooming hot on her face, and sat down.

 

Vel pushed the chair in and took a seat beside her.  “Of course, my lady,” she said, with a wink and smile that warmed Cassandra to her toes, and Cassandra was too put off-balance by the entire thing to glare at Varric’s smug face.

 

It only escalated over the next several weeks.  Vel appeared in her room one day with a box of Nevarran truffles, sweets Cassandra had never cared for but appreciated the thought behind, regardless.  When they went to the Fallow Mire, Vel pitched Cassandra’s tent for her, making Bull and Sera snicker while Cassandra stood there, wringing her hands.  She’d always wanted to do things herself, to prove that she was more than capable of handling everything—but it was _nice_ to have someone do things for her because they wanted to.  Vel gave her more practical things, too: a set of gauntlets made from Antivan leather, a beautiful necklace that brought out the color of her eyes and boosted her strength. 

 

But not once did Vel get as close to Cassandra as she had on the battlements; not once did she tease her with the possibility of a kiss, or touch her in any way that could be more than friendly.  It was… disappointing.

 

Her and Galyan’s relationship had never been stable, and when he was killed at the Conclave, they hadn’t been together in years.  Their jobs kept them too busy, their positions kept them apart.  But in those years when they were together, everything had burned hot; they were young, and Cassandra hadn’t yet realized how much she wanted to be treated like a woman instead of a warrior.  So once they’d made it passed their rocky beginning, they’d jumped nearly straight into bed.  She knew that not all romance was like that, but knowing and experiencing were two different beasts.

 

Still, Vel’s attention was flattering, and her dedication to Cassandra’s request was gratifying.  Even if she was getting tired of waiting and just wanted the elf to kiss her already.

 

Two months after the first bouquet arrived in Cassandra’s room, Cassandra turned away from bludgeoning a training dummy to find Vel standing there.  Her hands behind her back, and she was bouncing lightly on her toes.  “It is good to see you,” Cassandra said, smiling.  Vel could play stoic and impassive, most of the time, and that she was choosing not to now was endearing. 

 

“And you,” Vel said, returning the smile.  “I was wondering if you could meet me in the grove north of Skyhold just after sunset?”

 

“Of course,” Cassandra agreed, surprised.  They hadn’t even been alone together since…the battlements, she thought.  “I…look forward to it.”

 

Vel’s smile widened.  “I hope I live up to your expectations, then,” she said, and winked before turning around and heading back the way she came.

 

Cassandra stared at her retreating form for a moment and swallowed hard.  Then, with superhuman effort, she forced herself to turn back to her practice.

 

* * *

 

She smelled the candles first, their sweet scent standing out sharply against the smells of dirt and grass.  When she drew closer, Cassandra saw the trail begin, a long row of rose petals leading to the grove.  And standing in the grove, leaning against a tree, a book in her hand, was Vel.

 

“’On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath,’” Vel read, her lilting Dalish accent turning the words into a song.

 

_You’re joking,_ Cassandra thought, staring at her, heart fluttering. 

 

Vel looked up from the book now, holding Cassandra’s eyes as she walked towards her, each step deliberate.  Vel was half-smiling in a way that Cassandra knew meant she was trying to keep from laughing—probably at the look on Cassandra’s face.  “’It carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover’s kiss.’” 

 

At this the smile turned into a blatant smirk, and Cassandra shoved at the elf’s shoulder; her face burned hot as flame.  Vel was unaffected, turning the shove into a graceful pirouette.  She gestured grandly at the air as if milking a giant cow.  “’It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss,’” she said with affected emotion.

 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Cassandra said, hands on her hips, forcing herself to look directly at the elf even though she wanted nothing more than to stare at the ground.

 

In answer, Vel shrugged.  She had always been beautiful, but at night, in the middle of the forest, she seemed ethereal; she seemed at home.  Her eyes glimmered in the dark, like moonlight reflecting off snow.  “I’m serious about you,” she said, and the words were so earnest Cassandra’s breath caught.

 

She had known Vel cared for her deeply.  How could she not have noticed, with all the trouble Vel had gone to for her?  But Cassandra…she hadn’t really considered her own feelings on the matter, hadn’t looked them dead in the eye and stared them down as she did everything else.

 

Now Cassandra did so.  And what she saw in her own heart was love.  But now was not the time for tearful confessions.  Instead, she would enjoy this moment. 

 

“But,” Vel was saying, perhaps reading the look on her face, “we don’t have to be serious every single minute, do we?” 

 

Cassandra shook her head.  “And _that_ is the poem you chose?”  She liked her poetry simple, with few metaphors and less obvious symbolism.  Epic poems, or descriptive poems whose adjectives actually made sense—that was where her tastes lay.

 

Vel scoffed.  “What’s wrong with it?”

 

Snatching the book out of Vel’s hand, Cassandra looked at the cover.  “’Carmenum di Amatus.’  I thought this one was banned.”  Was this from Dorian, perhaps?  Though poetry was hardly his style.  “’His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer; which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night.  His eyes reflect the Heaven’s stars, the Maker’s light.’”

 

Perhaps the poem was not quite so ridiculous, she thought, leaning against the tree and watching Vel pace around her from her peripheral vision.  As she finished the line, an arm slipped around her waist, and she wrapped an arm around Vel’s shoulder in answer, feeling the warm weight of her.  Still, she continued to the last line of the poem.  “’My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there…’”

 

“’Not merely housed in flesh,’” Vel finished, and Cassandra was acutely aware of Vel’s eyes on her face, “’but brought to life.’”

 

Cassandra met Vel’s gaze, feeling the soft curves of the elf’s body against her own hard muscle; this was the most she’d ever touched the other woman.  So easy, she thought.  It would be so easy to lower her head the extra few inches to meet Vel’s lips.

 

“Would you like to read another?” Vel asked, voice husky.

 

Cassandra dropped the book and twisted to press Vel’s back against the tree.

 

“Perhaps in the morning, then,” Vel said, and Cassandra was still smiling when their lips met.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that the in-game scene of courtship wasn't nearly enough. I mean, one date and then you're done? In-game, I can understand why it was set up that way, but I wanted to add my own twist to it.
> 
> Anyway, I have a couple more ideas for these two (at least one of them involving Halamshiral and one involving that scarf thing). Thank you for reading, and comments (whether they're praise or criticism) would be lovely!


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